


A Proper Goodbye

by ceemobster



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice, DC Animated Universe, DC Cinematic Universe, DCU, Under the Red Hood
Genre: Angst, Bat Family, Batfamily Feels, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, Jason feels, post under the red hood post bvs, well maybe a little comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-27
Updated: 2017-01-27
Packaged: 2018-09-20 07:34:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9481247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ceemobster/pseuds/ceemobster
Summary: Jason sighed in defeat, and Bruce could hear the unspoken sentiment.Fine, I’ll do the talking. “I expected better from you, now that you have friends and everything. Please don’t tell me you’re drinking on account of me.”“We almost killed each other,” Bruce blurted out in his stupor, barely aware of what he was saying.The emergence of the Red Hood throws Bruce into disarray, and then Jason pays him a visit.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [一场正式的告别||A Proper Goodbye(原作：ceemobster)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9656708) by [QIANq](https://archiveofourown.org/users/QIANq/pseuds/QIANq)



> Yeah, I'm just really obsessed with integrating Jason into the DCEU. This started out as a mini-fic and then it got out of control.
> 
> Assume that the events of Under the Red Hood follow those of BvS.

It was difficult not to shake. Not to make the ice slosh around in the clear golden liquid. His arms hurt, _god_ it hurt, so much that even holding a half-full glass of whiskey was taking a toll on his muscles. But that was alright, he supposed. He’d had worse. Much worse.

This was a good night. Rough and long, but good. Successful. The WE gala had gone as well as expected (at least until his exit just after midnight) and he’d managed to put in a few hours of patrol afterwards. He had done his duty, had assumed his responsibility. The night had earned him the fresh wounds, the new scars, the blood still trickling down his marred skin—and the night was fair. It had also gifted him the right to drink.

That was how he rationalised it. He knew it wasn’t doing him any good, not in the long run. The fear, the guilt, the regret, the feeling of not doing enough, not _being_ enough; they would all return. There was no real way out.

Honestly, on account of there being a semblance of order back in his life, he’d actually been trying to drink less and less. Being on speaking terms with Dick again certainly helped. It had been right to listen to Alfred and reconnect with his ward. Now they were in the process of rebuilding the partnership they had lost, and even if it would never be the way it had once been, Dick was still family. He was his _son_ , even if it mostly went unsaid, and to him, that could never change.

Then there was the Justice League, which had proven to be a good idea, an effective line-up if nothing else. Of course they were far from perfect. Teamwork, in particular, could do with some improvement. But they made sure the people were safe and felt safe, and that was what’s important. He would continue to do everything in his power to make sure that never changed.

Clark—Superman—had come back from the dead (so had Jason, though that was a different matter entirely). He still did not know how it had happened, but it had, and he could not ask for anything more. He was also extremely grateful that they were on far better terms than they had once been, which would not have been possible if Clark was not a gracious man. He still thanked his lucky stars every day.

Both individually and as a whole, these various affairs were shaping new purposes for him, which was exactly what he needed. They had given him a new sense of self and a rejuvenated perspective. Sometimes it even felt like he had his life on track. Sometimes it felt like he had it all together.

But old habits die hard. Old, _bad_ habits even harder. So when he heard the sound of pearls hitting the pavement in his sleep, when the Red Hood once again made headlines, when the night was rough and he felt angry and helpless and _mean_ , it was difficult to ignore the bottles, easier to drown himself in the tangy, piquant liquids. It would not do him any good in the long run, but for a couple of hours he could stop feeling and thinking, and few things were better than that.

The sound of shuffles coming from the hallway broke him out of his reverie. Alfred cleaning, perhaps? Considering the state of his soaked bandage, he’d probably bled on the hardwood floor. Soon enough there would be complaints, but Alfred would just have to be satisfied with nothing more than a mumbled apology. He was frankly too tired and drunk for much else.

“Master Bruce.”

Right on time.

Bruce opened his eyes, not quite remembering when he had closed them. The leather of the armchair felt stuck to his bandages when he shifted.

Alfred looked back at him. Surprisingly, the expression he had on was not the passive-aggressive annoyance that Bruce was expecting, but one closer to apprehension instead. Bruce stared at the pair of eyes regarding him from behind the glasses, which seemed to have lost all of their usual coolness. An uneasy feeling immediately washed over him. Something had happened—was happening. Something major. After many glasses of whiskey, however, he could not quite process this, and so did nothing but waited for the aging man to speak.

“Master Bruce, you have a visitor,” Alfred finally said.

Bruce frowned. At this point, he had no idea what to expect. “What time is it?” he asked warily.

“Early.”

He could think of nobody Alfred would not have turned away aside from a League member or Dick. “ _Who_ is it?”

“You look like shit.”

His arm shook again, violently and not because of the pain this time, and the content of his glass spilled onto the carpet. There was no mistaking that voice. He craned his neck to look behind Alfred, and even in the dimly lit living room and behind a layer of intoxication, he knew his eyes were not deceiving him. It did not take much to see a full-grown man standing only ten feet away after all.

Bruce tried not to look so shocked. He really did put an effort at it. But judging by the humourless chuckle Jason let out, it seemed he was failing quite miserably.

“I’ll leave you to it,” Alfred announced. Before leaving, he gave Jason a pointed look, which wiped the sharp grin off Jason’s face without a trace.

The silence that Alfred left them with was thick and suffocating. Bruce could not stop staring, while Jason shifted from foot to foot. Perhaps Bruce was making him uncomfortable. Perhaps it was something else. Regardless, Bruce kept on staring, wondering if this was a dream, wondering if Jason was there to kill him.

He took note that his previously-dead ward was not in his Red Hood getup, but a t-shirt and jeans instead. There wasn’t a single weapon attached to his person, none that Bruce could see anyway, and he did not seem to be in a stance to fight. But none of these details helped make sense of the situation. As a final resort, Bruce flexed his arm, and the shooting pain that burnt his nerves when he did so told him that this was, in fact, not a dream.

Jason finally sauntered over and snatched the crystal glass off Bruce’s hand. “You should cut back on the alc, old man.” He sounded almost angry. His free hand then grabbed the half-empty bottle on the coffee table, and Bruce did nothing but watched as he deposited both glass and bottle on the counter at the far end of the room. “You’re not getting any younger,” he added, plopping down on the seat opposite from Bruce.

Bruce’s throat was dry. It all still felt surreal even knowing how solid Jason’s presence was, and he certainly had no words to offer. Even though this was not the first time he had seen him as an adult, seeing just how much Jason had grown still put him at a loss.

Jason sighed in defeat, and Bruce could hear the unspoken sentiment. _Fine, I’ll do the talking_. “I expected better from you, now that you have friends and everything. Please don’t tell me you’re drinking on account of _me_.”

“We almost killed each other,” Bruce blurted out in his stupor, barely aware of what he was saying.

Jason seemed to take a moment to think. “Nah, you weren’t trying to kill me,” he then said, all-too-casually, even if he was fidgeting a little. “Hell, you refused to even kill the clown with my gun pointed at you.”

“He’s back in Arkham now.”

“He is.” Jason clicked his tongue. “Listen, I know we’ve got a lot of ground to cover, but I’m not here to talk about the Joker.”

 _So what are you here for_ , Bruce wanted to say, but did not. _Are you here to have your vengeance. How could you be so nonchalant. I’m sorry Jason. I’m sorry I did not save you. I’m sorry I couldn’t. I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry. I know I don’t deserve your forgiveness. I’m sorry I have to stop you. I’m sorry I’ll always stand in your way_. “How long have you been...” he said instead, only to trail off at the end.

“Alive?” Jason filled in, still painfully nonchalant. “A while. But I was... abroad for a long time. I only came back to this godforsaken city after your fight with Superman. What the fuck was that about anyway?”

“A lapse of judgement on my part.”

Jason snorted. “Yeah, no kidding.” There was mirth in his eyes, and for a moment, he was the boy whom Bruce had taken under his wing many years ago. The boy long gone, unsalvaged. “Good thing he woke up. At least you’ve got one revival to be grateful about.”

 _I don’t know if I should be grateful about you being back_ , Bruce wanted to say. _Perhaps you should have remained at rest. You’ve changed. It’s justifiable. Doesn’t make it a good thing. I made you the way you are. It’s my fault. I’m sorry_. “What do you want from me?” he asked instead.

The question pulled an immediate response from Jason; a flinch, a look of genuine surprise flashing across his features, his whole posture pulling back. Bruce could just make out what was in his head, could guess the general trail of his thoughts. Perhaps he really had come just to see how Bruce was doing, and by accusing that he wanted something, Bruce had offended him. But all things considered, was that question really unwarranted? What could he possibly expect from him? After all, the last time they had been in a room together, not even five months ago, Jason had tried to kill him. He had really fired that gun. That could not be undone.

As if following that line of thinking, the pained expression left Jason’s features as quickly as it had appeared. “I guess that’s a fair question,” he said, nodding to himself. “There are things I wish you’d do and wouldn’t do, but we both know you can’t condone the way I do things, so,” he shrugged, “I don’t want anything from you.”

Bruce felt like he was on fire, but it had less to do with the cuts on his body than with the shame and anger boiling inside him. “So why are you here?” he asked, voice weak in spite of his hurricane of emotions.

“To apologise,” Jason said after taking a long breath. “I don’t want you dead, Bruce. Not anymore. I shouldn’t have gone at you like that.”

It was almost funny. It would have been hilarious if it weren’t so awful. Since the day Jason had died, Bruce had been apologising to him over and over, even though he had not been there to hear it. He had apologised again that night five months ago, but then Jason had not _wanted_ to hear it. Now they were once more in each other’s presence, sitting together in his damn living room, and _Jason_ was the one apologising? How was any of this right?

“I haven’t changed that much, you know,” Jason continued. “I’m still here to do the work I once did at your side. But I have a different way to go about it now and, obviously,” he chuckled dryly, “we’re no longer nearly compatible enough to work side by side.”

The words only served as a confirmation of what Bruce had known all along. He knew that their current standing was not something he could fix. This was nothing like how it was with Dick, nothing like _anything_ that could be rebuilt. He understood the irreversibility of their situation, had known it in his heart for the past five months. Strangely, that did not make hearing it from Jason hurt any less. The words still stabbed at him, painfully, adding to his collection of wounds that would never heal.

Perhaps Jason had wanted Bruce to say something, because he sighed at Bruce’s prolonged silence. “I’m glad to see that Alfred’s been well, at least,” he admitted. Some of the fondness behind his words slipped through his nonchalant demeanour.

“He hides it well, but he thinks about leaving me every day,” Bruce found himself saying.

Jason laughed at that, good-natured and genuine, and it made Bruce’s heart ache. Hearing it made him realise just how much he had truly missed Jason. He’d missed his ward, his partner. His _son_. Soon enough, Jason’s laugh subsided into silence, and Bruce watched as the ghost of a very familiar cheeky smile faded away from the boyish face in front of him. Nobody said anything else for a while, but Jason was no longer fidgeting uncomfortably, and Bruce did not feel as angry as before. For a good few seconds, there was nothing but a pleasant quiet between them, and Bruce thought he would be just fine if that moment stretched on for eternity. But of course it did not.

“I expect you’ll continue to try to stop me. Probably get Dick to do the same, too, right?” Jason broke the silence, sounding just as regretful as he looked. But then some sort of idea seemed to have struck him, as his expression transformed to one of wonder. “Or are you gonna ask one of your new friends for help?” he asked, strangely animated. “If that’s the case, please at least let it be Wonder Woman. God, I feel like I’d do anything for her.”

Without bothering to hold it back, Bruce smiled. His mind recalled a specific moment long ago, quite a while before Jason’s return to the city. In the cave, he had found Diana standing in front of the glass case that held Jason’s Robin suit, studying it. ‘He would have loved you’, Bruce had told her.

“You see her all the time, right? Honestly, how are you not in love?” There was a pause, and then Jason quirked an eyebrow in a conspiratorial manner. “Or are you?”

“She’s amazing,” Bruce said simply.

“But you’re not in love with her,” Jason decided, concluded on his own. “Is it because you’re in love with Superman? Heard you’re best friends now. People are calling you ‘World’s Finest’ or whatever.”

Bruce chuckled. “He’s a good man.”

“I bet. I bet Dick loves him.”

Jason was right, of course. Bruce did not need to tell him so. Not only did he know his kids and they him, they certainly knew each other very well, too. Even after all these years. In spite of everything that had happened between them.

Outside, thin rays of sunlight began to chase away the darkness of the night. This caught Jason’s attention, and as he looked out the windows, Bruce thought he saw the faintest hint of disappointment flash across his son’s features. Before he could search further, however, it had disappeared.

“Would you look at that,” Jason said, his mouth curved into a lazy smirk. “Guess it’s time for me to go.”

 _You don’t have to_ , Bruce wanted to say. _You could stay. You could come live with me. We could try again. Maybe it could be like how it used to be. Maybe this time I could make sure you wouldn’t get hurt_. “You should talk to Alfred,” he said instead. “You have no idea how much he misses you.”

“Oh, don’t worry, Alfred and I had our own looong and productive discussion,” Jason glanced at the bottle on the counter, “while you were drinking yourself to death, apparently.” His smirk softened into a sad smile as he looked down at the coffee table unseeingly. “We’ve actually said our goodbyes.”

“Alright,” Bruce gave in after a beat of silence. He hated how small his voice sounded, but it was the most he could muster at the moment. The helplessness of having to let Jason go was overpowering him and even the copious amount of alcohol in his system could not help to numb it. “Okay.”

“It’s better if we don’t hope to see each other again,” Jason said as he stood up. “I mean, considering how unpleasant that might actually be...” he trailed off. “Guess this is goodbye then.”

Bruce remained seated, frozen, capable of nothing more than to stare at Jason’s retreating back. His whole body felt heavy and weary and so utterly _helpless_.

“Take care of yourself, old man.” It was the last thing Jason said before he disappeared into the hallway.

There was little that could be done past that point. Bruce knew that. He had let Jason go.

Only partly aware of what he was doing, he raised his feet off the floor and onto the armchair. It had been a good night, he reminded himself. The WE gala had gone as well as expected and he had put in a few hours of patrol afterwards. On top of that, Jason had come to see him, and they’d had a nice talk. It had been a proper goodbye, if nothing else.

This was how he rationalised it. _I hope I see you again, Jason_ , he wanted to say, or might have actually said. He wasn’t so sure. It did not matter anyway, Jason was no longer there to hear him. Whether he had said it in his mind or out loud, it was the last thing he did before he curled into himself on the armchair and closed his eyes. Soon enough, he drifted into a drunken sleep he was not sure he wanted to wake from.

**Author's Note:**

> Reviews/comments feed my wellbeing. Also, come say hi on tumblr: [underwoodclaire](http://underwoodclaire.tumblr.com/) (writing/rp blog if that’s your thing, though I am less active here) and [justiceclique](http://justiceclique.tumblr.com/) (personal/fic-talk/fandom/mostly-DC side blog)


End file.
